


Bucket List

by Ghostys



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, I'm trash for apocalypse aus this was to be expected, Infrequent Updates, M/M, later parts of it may be collabs between me and a friend, mainly set out as a group of vaguely connected oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 02:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7202222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostys/pseuds/Ghostys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catching a ride from a sword-wielding asshole with too much money and a Bucket List that consists solely of laws he intends to break before he dies isn't part of Dipper's apocalypse plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bucket List

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I hit some pretty extreme writers block on my other billdip fic, thankyou for watching, so I decided to take a break and write up an idea that me and a friend had after a discussion at 2 in the morning about the potential science behind the zombie apocalypse. So presenting a slow updating side-project that will probably end up with some sections written by me, some written by aforementioned friend. Anyway, i hope you enjoy this- it was really fun to write!

**1; Arson**

 

The first time Dipper saw the stranger was when he decided to steal his coffee. 

 

Finding a functioning coffee machine in the middle of a darkened office building was a small miracle to the brunet- he hadn’t had anything to drink besides lukewarm bottled water for entire time he had been traveling alone, so the prospect of a hot drink and a spike of much needed caffeine was enough to shake a little bit of life into his weary limbs. 

 

For someone used to spending his days studying scientific phenomena out of book and growing mutated plants in a corner of his parent’s garden, the apocalypse wasn’t the ideal place for Dipper. At first, it hadn’t been too bad- he, his sister Mabel and two great-uncles had made a good team; Mabel kept up Morale, Stan fended off any zombies that came within punching range, and Ford kept a pile of notebooks in which he recorded any and all useful information that they obtained: about the virus, the corpse-like state it induced, the way it progressed, developed and transmitted. 

 

They were a team, but that didn’t stop them from running into difficulties. 

 

Usually it was just petty arguments; put two sets of twins with contrasting personalities in a situation that involved them spending every waking minute together, and it was bound to happen. However, for an argument between Stan and Ford to result in Dipper going off alone to escape the fighting, then coming back only hours later to find their shelter empty, with nothing but a set of coordinates and a hasty note to confirm that they were all fine scribbled on the wall in glitter pen; that wasn’t something any of them had predicted. 

 

Dipper’s plan, in concept was simple; work his way back through the city, get to the specified coordinates, then meet up with his family. In theory, however, it wasn’t anywhere near as straightforward. With only a bike that he had stolen from an abandoned shop for transport, and a small, beaten up baseball bat as a weapon, he wasn’t particularly well equipped, and the fact that he had to take ridiculously convoluted routes and detours to avoid spots of heavy zombie activity made getting to the location a tedious task.

 

That, and he couldn’t help himself from looking into the science of things, not once he had figured out just how  _ interesting  _ the whole apocalypse situation was.

 

To pass the time, Dipper had taken to adding notes to one of Ford’s research books, which he had been carrying at the time when the group was split up, correcting inaccuracies, studying facts and adding his own observations. From the information in the book, he knew that he shouldn’t really be referring to the infected as ‘zombies’: the whole thing was more a disease, one that affected brain functionality, along with causing various other side effects, however ‘zombie’ was a lot easier to say than the complex scientific name given to the virus when studies of it first began, so it stuck.

 

But, in his present state, Dipper wasn’t focused on science; Dipper was focused on coffee.

 

Coffee that was currently being snatched out of his hands.

 

The whole event occurred in a stupidly fast succession of confusion and understanding that didn’t quite sink in until the situation was over. One second, Dipper was heading out of the office building, cup of bitter but warm coffee in hand, baseball bat swinging loosely in the other, the brunet praising his own good fortune. The next, a flashy, sleek looking car had slammed to a halt on the road next to him, and a person had darted out of the flung open door, all blonde hair, freckles and obnoxious colours, and grabbed the coffee out of Dipper’s hand.

 

The brunet was momentarily dazed, unsure of what to do as the person winked, his appearance far too clean and put-together to belong in the apocalypse, then sprung backwards, swung himself back into the car and floored it. The car hurtled off down the wrong side of the road, the way it swerved and refused to stay on a straight path indicating that the blonde either had terrible coordination, or had fairly recently taught himself to drive. The fact that he only seemed to be about sixteen, a similar age to Dipper himself, indicated heavily that it was the latter.

 

By the time Dipper’s brain had caught up to what had happened, the blonde was long gone. He glanced down at his hand, where a hint of warmth from where the coffee cup had been lingered slightly, and decided that whoever the blonde was, he  _ really  _ didn’t like him.

 

The second time he saw the blonde was under much different circumstances. 

 

Dipper knew that travelling at night was his safest option. One small mercy of the virus was that the infected bodies did still need rest, and, being programmed to go into a state of dormancy in the dark, they tended to slump down on the streets once the sun was down, not asleep as such, but definitely less aware than they were during daylight. However, travelling during the day, while risky, was Dipper’s preferred option- it gave him more ability to observe the Zombies’ behaviour patterns, and also allowed him to avoid contact with other survivors in the city, most of whom had adopted a nocturnal sleeping pattern to avoid being infected themselves. 

 

It did, however mean that he was much more likely to attract the attention of hordes of infected. 

 

When Dipper hit a pothole in the road and was thrown violently from his bike, toppling over onto the tarmac, a curse hissing out into the still air, he knew he was pretty much fucked. The noise of shuffling feet and mumbled voices that had long lost control of what they were saying greeted him as he staggered to his feet, causing him to freeze momentarily, a jolt of adrenaline and fear spiking through him as he darted to the side and snatched up his baseball bat. He attempted to get over to his bike, but was halted as a clammy, blistered hand brushed against his arm. 

 

The brunet forced down a shiver of disgust, then braced himself and swung, wincing at the sickening crunch of bone shattering underneath the impact of his bat as he bludgeoned it into the zombie’s ribcage. The zombie staggered backwards and collapsed, heaving up blood, as Dipper raised the bat to finish it off, but was forced to turn as another two infected threw themselves at him. He grabbed the limp, patchy strands of hair that hung from one of their scalps, and pulled the head away, jaws snapping shut unnervingly close to Dipper’s neck. Moving out of the way, he attempted to swing the bat at the other, but was blocked by the first zombie, which had hauled itself back to its feet and was dragging itself towards Dipper, ribcage shattered, but still set on getting a meal.

 

Dipper felt his breathing growing panicked and unsteady as the realisation that he was surrounded fully came to him, limbs beginning to shake as he kicked out to keep one of the zombies’ jaws away from his arms. His attempts to swing the bat were futile, any hit he landed just ended with the infected shaking it off and hauling themselves back up, and any attempt he made to escape towards his bike was met by jaws dripping with thick, diseased saliva. 

 

There was a brief moment where he considered giving up, contemplated just letting himself be bitten and join the mindless hordes that stumbled through the city, but such thoughts were cut off abruptly by the sound of screeching brakes, of footsteps racing towards him, and then the sound of a blade slicing through flesh as the zombie closest to Dipper was decapitated in one strike.

 

“Having trouble, kid?” Dipper’s relief was flipped on its head when he recognised the person who had rescued him as the same individual that had stolen his coffee. The blonde held a large, antique looking sword in both hands, most likely stolen from a museum or family collection, which he swung clumsily towards the second zombie and slammed into its neck, the cut not as strong as the first, hard enough to hack a deep groove into the flesh, thick, clotted blood dripping down from the injury, but not quite enough to sever the head. The blonde turned back to Dipper briefly, eyebrows raised questioningly. “You going to help?” Swallowing down the distaste that he held towards the person helping him, the brunet nodded.

 

“Yeah, sorry.” He raised his bat, and swung out, catching the side of the partially decapitated zombie’s head, the impact knocking it clear off the neck, smearing the end of the bat in a slick coating of blood. The blonde had moved out of Dipper’s line of sight, but based off the loud laughter and shouts of glee from behind him, he could assume that he was doing just fine.

 

“Take that, meatsack!” The statement was punctuated with the sound of tearing flesh and a strangled, wheezing gasp. Dipper hazarded a glance behind him as he felt the blonde’s back press up against his own, and turned away quickly at the grin, bordering on manic, upon the person’s face, a smear of blood wiped down one of his cheeks, the sword embedded vertically hilt-deep into the zombie’s mouth, down its throat and into its chest. 

 

The zombies were killed off quickly, and the blonde stepped back as soon as he was done, pulling out a cloth from his back pocket and beginning to clean off the blade of his sword. As he worked, Dipper took the chance to get a proper look at him, studying his features carefully. The only word he could think of to describe the blonde’s features was  _ pretty, _ with bright blue eyes, long eyelashes and thick white-blonde hair, narrow face scattered with freckles, the way he looked almost whimsical, completely out of place in the middle of an apocalypse-torn city, standing in his obnoxiously coloured clothing and cleaning his antique sword.

 

“That’s thanks for the coffee.” The blonde had moved without Dipper realising, reaching out expressively with a hand to indicate the torn up bodies of the zombies. He didn’t leave the brunet a chance to respond, shooting him a wide grin before depositing the sword through the back window of his car and jumping in, swerving off down the street as he had done the first time Dipper had seen him.

 

The third time Dipper saw him, his hands were covered in gasoline. 

 

Dipper’s bike had taken a lot more damage than he had expected when he hit the broken part of the road, and he was forced to turn back, having recalled seeing repair kits of some sort in a gas station he had sheltered in a previous night. As he cycled towards it, he tried to steer the bike in a straight line despite the fact that the front wheel seemed determined to fall off. His hands had gripped the handlebars tightly so he would be safe should the makeshift repairs he made fail and cause the wheel to break while he was cycling. 

 

The sight of a car parked by the side of the gas station as it came into view prompted a slight spike of paranoia in Dipper’s chest- facing off with other survivors, especially when his method of transport was on the verge of falling apart, wasn’t top on his to-do list, so he approached cautiously, getting off the bike and steering it around the side of the gas station, trying to pay as little attention to the car as possible, so as to calm his nerves. As he approached the building, he noticed the handle of a broom, shoved under the door handle, locking it closed. Dipper attempted to shift it, then recoiled, forcing back a panicked shout as a zombie threw itself against the glass windowpane set into the door. The door rattled on its hinges as the zombie attempted to claw its way out with bloodied fingernails, and Dipper stepped away, eyes evidently wide with surprise and fear.

 

“Oh hey! Wow, aren’t coincidences just the best?” Dipper whirled around and audibly sighed at the sight of the blonde, who he was growing tired of seeing, standing with his hands on his hips, an empty gasoline bottle lying on the ground next to him. “I thought I was going to have to go looking for you!” 

 

“Why the hell is there a zombie trapped in there?” The brunet had to force his voice to stay steady, still shaky from having the zombie behind the door throw itself at him. 

 

“Zombie _ s _ ” The blonde corrected. “There’s at least twenty of the meatsacks in there.” the look upon Dipper’s face in response to the statement was incredulous. 

 

“Why. What the hell is wrong with you.” He cursed himself slightly as the loud tone to his voice caused it to raise in pitch, making the insult sound more fearful than anything. A nonchalant shrug was thrown his way from the boy with the blue eyes.

 

“Got bored. I’ve been collecting them up all day.” He nudged the bottle of gasoline with his foot. “I’m going to blow ‘em up.” He flashed an off-kilter grin towards Dipper. “And seeing as I saved your life, I was planning on getting you to help me, you know, a return favour sort of thing.”

 

“What happened to it being as repayment for the coffee?” Dipper’s line of sight fell back over to the door, where the zombie was still trying to claw its way out.

 

“Coffee is a little less valuable than a life, don’t you think?” The blonde, followed Dipper’s gaze, and leaned to the side, shouting past him at the door. “Hey, flesh-puppet! shut up!”

 

“I think that one’s debatable.” Dipper responded to the other boy’s prior statement, receiving a wide, amused smile flashing back at him. 

 

“True- I like the way you think, kid.” 

 

“I’m pretty sure I’m the same age as you; stop calling me ‘kid’.” The blonde looked up thoughtfully, folding his arms, smearing gasoline from his hands onto the front of his shirt. 

 

“I’m 16. You?” The boy rocked backwards and forwards on his heels impatiently.

 

“16 too.” Dipper paused. “How did you even get that car- I’m pretty sure it’s illegal for you to be driving it.” 

 

“Stole it.” He spoke simply, as if referring to some sort of petty theft, rather than the fact that he had stolen an expensive looking sports car. “Anyway, I know your age, so how about names? I’m fed up of referring to you as ‘cute nerd kid’,” He paused to grin wider, shark-like, at Dipper. “I’m Bill Cipher.”

 

“Dipper Pines.” The noises from the door raised in volume as the zombie stopped scratching at the door and began ramming itself against it instead.

 

“Well then, Dipper Pines, what do you say? Want to help me blow some zombie’s to shit?”

 

“Something tells me I’m not going to have a choice in this. So why not.” Bill’s grin morphed into one that was more pleased than teasing, and motioned for Dipper to follow him, skipping around to the other side of the gas station, where he had piled up a large stack of gasoline canisters, the empty ones discarded. He pointed to them, then got to work, pulling out the stopper and begining to douse the side of the gas station building. Taking it as a signal, Dipper began to do the same, trying not to let himself question what he was doing too much.

 

It took a lot longer than Dipper expected to get through all of the gasoline canisters, and Bill didn’t stop talking for the entire time they were working, all of it meaningless conversation, about their interests and habits, the responses Dipper gave almost automated, a sort of small talk that was only made minorly less dull through Bill’s obscure statements. The sigh of relief that the brunet let out when he emptied out the last of the gasoline was a genuine one. 

 

“Okay, let’s get this shit started.” The blonde produced a lighter from one pocket, and a small wooden splint from the other, flicking the lighter on and off in his hand.

 

“Careful, if you drop it, this whole place will go up in flames.” Dipper cautioned Bill, raising a hand slightly as if to remove the lighter from his grip. 

 

“Don’t worry- a little fire never hurt anyone.” The grin was back full-force, still slightly crooked. 

 

“I’m pretty sure that’ll be more than just a little fire.” Dipper’s expression was indignant, and Bill simply shrugged it off.

 

“So long as the sun’s still got its shiny ass parked up there,” the blonde jabbed a thumb up towards the sky. “It’s a little bit of fire. Compare it to the sun, and this place is going to look like less than a lit match.” Dipper blinked, unwilling to admit that Bill’s reasoning, while obscure, did somewhat make sense. 

 

“Let’s just get this thing over with so I can get out of here.” Impatience was evident in Dipper’s voice, and Bill rocked back on his heels slightly.

 

“Well, about that. Your bike- it’s not going to get you out of here fast enough when I drop the match. You’ll catch on fire.” Dipper internally thanked Bill sarcastically for the image of himself slowly burning to death that had presented itself in his mind. 

 

“And what exactly do you expect me to do?” the brunet tried to force his voice to sound at least a little pissed off to get his point across. Bill motioned in the direction of his car.

 

“Catch a ride with me? I’ve got plenty of room in the back for your stuff.” Dipper mulled the idea over in his head, considering the pros and cons of the offer. On one hand, Bill was infuriating, and probably not a safe person to be around; his constant grinning and strange phrases unsettling to Dipper. On the other hand, however, Bill had a car, and, by travelling in a car, Dipper knew that he would be able to reach Mabel, Ford and Stan much faster. That, and travelling by himself for over a week was beginning to get a little lonely. 

 

“Let me get my stuff.” Dipper had a feeling that he was going to regret his decision. He collected up his things from the bags he had attached to his bike, canned food, clothes, his baseball bat, a pocket-knife and a lighter, then headed back over to where Bill was waiting, leaning against the side of the ridiculously expensive looking car. As Dipper approached, the blonde dug his fingers into a gap at the top of the back window, pulling it open and indicating for him to throw his stuff onto the back seats. 

 

“Get into the front, I’m going to drop in the splint, jump into the driver's seat then get the hell out of here.” Dipper felt almost like he was intruding as he opened the side door and sat down in the front passenger seat of the car, feeling far too dirty and battered to be sitting on pristine, white leather. Bill left his door open, angled towards the gas station so he could jump in immediately after he ignited the gasoline. The brunet tapped his fingers against the edge of the seat as he waited, watching Bill head over to the gas station and fumble with the lighter, his back facing the car. Things seemed to happen far too fast on in. One moment, Bill was stationary, standing by the building with the lighter, and the next he was running, scrambling headlong across the ground, throwing himself into the car seat, throwing the door closed behind him and slamming his foot down on the ignition before he even had the chance to adjust his sitting position. They bulleted down the road, scenery flashing by too fast to register, and as soon as he felt that they were a safe distance away to do so, Dipper wound down the window and stuck his head out, letting out a shaky laugh as he caught sight of the building behind them, flames already licking up the sides and billowing thick, dark smoke into the air.

 

“Holy shit, that was fun.” Bill’s voice was breathless as he spoke to Dipper when he pulled his head back through the window into the car, the brunet’s hair ruffled by the wind generated by how fast Bill was driving. “Hey, get that bit of paper out from the door compartment, would you?”  

 

“What is it?” Dipper asked as he reached down to collect the requested item. “If you don’t mind me asking.” He added hastily.

 

“Take a look.” Opening up the paper, the edges torn and creased, as if well handled, Dipper found himself looking at a list, a brief scan of the page revealing all of the items upon it to be laws and regulations, a sheet of at least fifty of them, many of them ticked, highlighted and circled. Dipper gathered that his expression must have been a puzzled one, as Bill launched into an explanation. “Think of it like this: I’m most likely going to die in this shithole, so I figured that I might as well go out doing something either spectacularly good, or something spectacularly bad.” He motioned  towards the list. “I’m going for the latter. Society’s basically ruined anyway, so why not break all of its rules?” He turned to Dipper, face still displaying its perpetual off-kilter grin. “Think of it as sort of a Bucket List.”

 

And there was the regret that Dipper had been predicting.

  
“Oh, while you’ve got the list, tick off the one about arson; I think we’ve definitely covered that one.”

**Author's Note:**

> Someone needs to get Bill to stop. My descent into billdip au hell is picking up pace.


End file.
